


Night Thoughts

by cygnes



Category: Honeymoon (2014), The Shining (1980), The Shining - Stephen King
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-02
Updated: 2016-04-02
Packaged: 2018-05-30 20:03:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6438331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cygnes/pseuds/cygnes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bea, Paul, and a different honeymoon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Night Thoughts

**Author's Note:**

  * For [skazka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/skazka/gifts).



> Originally published [here](http://manzanas-amargas.tumblr.com/post/141815224470/i-didnt-see-your-call-for-prompts-until-just-now) on my tumblr, for the prompt "Paul and Bea chilling at the Overlook Hotel, with or without horrible winter disaster results."
> 
> Title from a chapter title in _The Shining_.
> 
> As I said in the original post, "this short fic covers only the early stages of what is either going to grow into some horrible supernatural bullshit or some mundane stuff that they will discuss in couples’ therapy a couple of years down the line. Or both."

“It might even be better this way,” Bea says. “Going somewhere new, not all tangled up in my childhood memories.”

“I’m fine with it if you are,” Paul says. He doesn’t look up from his laptop.

“ _Are_ you?” Bea says.

“Yeah,” Paul says, and then he does look up. “I just don’t want you to feel like we have to settle for this if it isn’t what you want.” He closes the laptop and leans back in his chair, which creaks. It’s old and coming apart and needs reupholstering. That one had come from his apartment, and Bea might have put it out to the curb with the trash by now if it wasn’t Paul’s Chair. “You talked about a spring wedding as soon as we started talking about getting married in the abstract sense, and this—isn’t that.”

“I can’t get the time off this year in spring,” Bea says. She crosses her arms and leans back against the counter. This isn’t an argument, not really. They aren’t fighting. But she can feel her chest getting tight, her face getting hot, they way they do when she’s flustered. “But I want to get married. Why is that so unthinkable?”

“It’s not unthinkable,” Paul says. “I just don’t want you to regret it.”

“We can go up to the cabin next fall,” Bea says. “After Labor Day and before the first frost. We might not be able to swim, but it’ll still be…” What will it be? The idea sounds dull. “…like we talked about,” she finishes.

“And when we’re millionaires, we can renew our vows in May,” Paul says very seriously.

“May’s too late! I want lilacs,” Bea laughs. Suddenly breathing is easier.

“And this time around?” Paul says.

“Oh, roses,” Bea says.

———

Paul gives Bea the guidebook’s highlights in both airports on their trip to Colorado.

“The hotel almost burned down in 1977,” he says. “It took a full decade to reconstruct it, and they almost didn’t bother.”

“Good thing they did,” Bea says. “At least for us. Otherwise we’d be on a day trip to the Pine Barrens.” Paul makes a face at the idea, but his interest in the book is stronger than his distaste for New Jersey. He goes back to skimming the page. “Could have been exciting,” Bea muses. “Maybe we would have seen the Jersey Devil.”

“This might be exciting, too: the old hotel was haunted or something,” Paul says, flipping forward a few pages. “But it doesn’t sound like the new one is. You’d think it would have carried over, right?”

“Maybe it was just bad design,” Bea says. “They didn’t have user experience architects back in the day.”

“I don’t think they had them in the eighties, either,” Paul says. He has found another passage that interests him. “But they had some badass engineers. The pool has a glass roof over it that’s specifically built to withstand the weight of the average snowfall.”

“What if they get more than average?” Bea says.

“Hopefully we won’t be there to find out,” Paul says. “Too bad we won’t have the whole hotel to ourselves.” He leans in close to whisper in her ear. “Picture it: the pool, just around sunset. A light snow falling on the roof.” He pauses for dramatic effect. “ _Skinny-dipping_.”

Bea can’t help giggling a little. She shoves at Paul’s shoulder, and he grins.

———

“Okay, you know what?” Paul says. They have checked in at the reception desk and are almost at their room. “I don’t believe the guidebook. This place is definitely fucking haunted.”

“Scared of ghosts, Paulie-poo?” Bea says. “Don’t worry. I’ll protect you.”

“Zombies, more like,” Paul says. “I have never been anywhere with an honest-to-god bellhop, and that guy looks like he’s been around since the hotel opened. The _original_ hotel.”

But he’s just a nice old man, really, and their room has a big bed with high thread count sheets and a big bathroom with a claw-foot tub that reminds Bea unexpectedly of the cabin they didn’t go to. The tub she almost drowned in, when she was a kid, playing submarine. It’s not the same tub, and anyway, it’s not as though she’ll be in it alone. Not on her honeymoon.

They pile on sweaters and go exploring: finding all the weird little amenities that come with their stay. The trip was an amazing deal—priced to sell because it’s a less popular destination with winter coming on. Three nights, everything included.

After dinner, they are tired, tired, tired. It’s something Bea has never understood: how just sitting down in a car or on a plane or on a train can be so exhausting.

“Mmm, sexy,” Paul says when she joins him in bed. “I love a woman in flannel. The whole lumberjack thing really does it for me.”

“I brought a nightie, too,” Bea says. She doesn’t say that she bought it months ago, when a spring wedding seemed like a sure thing. “But it’s just so _cold_.”

“No, I get it,” Paul says, more seriously. “I mean, look at me.” She does. He’s wearing a long-sleeved t-shirt and sweatpants.

“And it’s not like we’ll be wearing our pajamas for very long,” Bea says. She scoots closer to him, so that they’re almost touching. Under the comforter, the air between their bodies is warm. She unbuttons her pajama top. Paul’s hands are cold, especially his wedding ring. So are hers, at first.

They do well enough without the nightie.

———

Bea doesn’t sleep well. She has strange dreams. Topiary animals, fire hoses. A hedge maze and a hatchet. A nest of wasps. Or are they hornets?

This last one wakes her up. In the dream, she had been stung. The pain brings her back to real life. The pain stays with her in real life, though duller—more a pinch than a sting. She realizes that she has rolled over on top of her left hand. The setting of her engagement ring is digging into her side.

She removes the ring and places it on the nightstand. Bea goes back to sleep and doesn’t remember the dreams that follow.

———

In the morning, they order room service. Pancakes and orange juice and coffee. The coffee comes with a little jug of cream, and Bea picks it up even though she drinks her coffee black.

“Doesn’t this smell off to you?” she says. “Not like it’s totally spoiled, but like it isn’t fresh?”

Paul sniffs it, shrugs, and pours some into his coffee. “Smells fine to me. Maybe you’re pregnant.”

Bea gets that tight chest, hot face _argument_ feeling. “Why would you say that? You know I’m on birth control. And we haven’t—that’s not something we’ve ever really talked about.” Paul looks taken aback.

“I meant it as a joke,” he says. “Because aren’t pregnant women supposed to have, like, super-senses about that kind of stuff?” He takes her hand, and she lets him, though she’s not sure she should. “It was a dumb joke to make.”

“I don’t know if I’m ready to have a baby,” Bea says.

“I don’t know if I am, either,” Paul says. “But we have plenty of other mornings to talk about important married people stuff. This morning, let’s just be on our honeymoon.” He kisses her hand, and she smiles at him. It’s easy to do. Easier than breathing, when the room and the bed suddenly seem much too small.

———

Bea leaves her engagement ring on the nightstand. She doesn’t think of it until later, and by then, they’re outside. It would be silly to go back now. She trusts the staff not to touch it. And, anyway, Paul hasn’t noticed.

There is no hedge maze. There are no topiary animals. Maybe that was something Paul read her from the guidebook, or in a picture she saw online when she was booking the trip.

There are little trails, though, with signposts and plaques talking about the local wildlife. They stay within sight of the hotel. It would be easy to get lost out here, Bea thinks. It would be easy to never be found, or not until years later. Bones bleached to the same gray of the rocks.

It’s only later, inside, with a mug of mulled wine, that these thoughts seem strange to her. They seem distant. Someone else’s thoughts: some character in a movie she watched years ago, or a novel she read in high school.

Bea wakes up in the middle of the night again, but she doesn’t go back to sleep. She walks down to the pool with the glassed-in roof and strips off her pajamas in the low light. There are no cameras here. The light is low. No one will see her.

She swims out to the middle of the pool and lets herself float on her back. She sees her own reflection, small and alone, against the blackness of the sky. This space is not too small, and she does not have to share it. She can breathe.

Bea is alone. It is perfect.


End file.
